War Machine Iron Man Armored Adventures Novels & Stories

"Don't look so scared babe. The worse he'll make you do is fuck him. It might be pleasurable depending on-" Losing all his sense of his cool, war let go his mate and his cool demeanour flew out the window and into Trent's face. The blow to his packmate forced the large in height and width man to stumblya few feet backward. A sickening crack sounded. Trent groaned before his hands went to his face, letting loose a slew of curse words. His fullname was Warren; but that didn't suit him much. War was his name and he felt the surge of the power from the name flow through him as he stalked over to Trent.

"Why the heck do you keep calling me boss? Stop that." "Boss, you saved me earlier, I am just trying to respectful." Vance replied, "Also, you haven't told me your name, boss. I also don't think I have seen you before." "..." The armored man abruptly paused and didn't say anything. "Boss, I understand if you don't want to tell me your name... and if you don't like it, I can call you something else. Even an alias is fine." This armored-man was no-one else but Creed wearing his armor type Soul Armas: 'Slither-Hide' that he got from killing the 'Shuma Slither'.

Without much effort, he stood up. The pain that should have been in his consciousness didn't come. The scarred man was a little confused, but he soon understood that he could do this completely because of the new armor on him. Joy immediately appeared in his eyes. He touched his new armor and was reluctant to put it down. With such ferocity, he might not be invincible at that time, but at least there should be no problem for him to slaughter all sides. However, before he could finish being happy, Samuel Before he could be happy, Samuel curled his lips and said, "Rubbish iron is indeed scrap iron. The effect is not ideal."

Small, sputtering steam-donkeys were mounted to its shoulders, spitting sharp bursts of gray vapor to stabilize the massive weight of the machine's limbs. Mounted to the exo-suit’s right forearm was a heavy, tri-barreled pneumatic rotary cannon. Standing inside the armored control cage of the machine was General Malvon, the supreme commander of the Iron Vanguard, his face scarred and rigid beneath his polished steel helm. "You brought a pack of wild dogs to an industrial slaughterhouse, Natalia," Malvon’s voice boomed through an acoustic brass horn mounted to the front of his armor. He did not waste time with a diplomatic warning. His hand yanked the primary firing valve on his control panel

To Amy, the metal man looked like a bronze statue of 2Pac if it came to life. She saw the electric light in his eyes glowing like a charging light on a smartphone. His chiseled, metallic chest resembled body armor on a gladiator. Amy’s words were stuck in her throat as she stared at 2Pac. She didn’t want to be fascinated by a robotic man wearing blue jeans. Amy tried to keep her focus on her son sitting in the metal man’s arms. She looked up at the robotic 2Pac, who towered over her. His carved titanium alloy-covered shoulder muscles shimmered from the auto factory ceiling’s lights shining down on his six-foot-four frame.

Arthur, the Eighth Brother. He looked like a man who had spent his life building bridges of steel while his brothers built bridges of starlight. He carried a cane topped with a simple silver wolf’s head, and behind him stood a legion of soldiers in "Null-Armor"—suits designed to absorb kinetic energy and ground it into the earth.

Cho thanks the claw machine while it spins around. “How much longer before it’s ready,” I say, looking the armor over. Despite the dim light in the workshop, the Iron Fist armor is still shining. Easily towering over both the doctor and myself, most of the armor seems to be done. In fact, the only things that seem to be missing are the left arm and the head. Also, the chest plate is open with dozens and dozens of wires coming out of it.

The blue sparks arched across Killian's skin, and he collapsed to the grass, his muscles spasming in uncontrollable agony. ​"Kill them! Kill them all!" Vane screamed toward the dark shadows of the fern groves. ​From the lush, engineered greenery, the "Iron Guard" emerged—a dozen soldiers encased in heavy, bio-mechanical armor that functioned entirely on internal combustion and hydraulics, independent of the planet's magic. They were Vane’s own perverted version of the Ghost Pack, but these were humans, driven by a cult-like zealotry and the promise of a place in Vane’s new world.

the black-robed man retorted. As he spoke, countless waves of energy appeared around him. The swirling dark clouds in the sky seemed to be summoned and gathered, forming a solid, armored suit around him. The armor, filled with dense daemonic essence, looked incredibly eerie even from a distance. "Not bad, not bad. You’re finally looking like a big bad guy," Adrian said with a sarcastic grin. Adrian’s taunting remark fueled an inexplicable anger in the black-robed man. He coldly snorted and said, "Weakling, don’t even think you can challenge me."

But now he was an armored titan. Mane was clad fully in a sea blue armor that complemented his eyes well. The helmet of the armor covered his entire face, exposing only his deep blue eyes. The armor looked strong and powerful, and was complete with a sword. The sword was no simple blade. For it sparkled with lightning and rang out with thunder. It was large and heavy, and made entirely out of stone, just like the armor was.